


There's More Than One of Everything

by claudiapriscus



Category: Fringe, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Stealth Crossover, Supernatural Summergen Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudiapriscus/pseuds/claudiapriscus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing a sheriff needs is a couple of feds of dubious veracity butting into her murder investigation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's More Than One of Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [counteragent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/counteragent/gifts).



The sheriff removed her hat and ran her hand over her hair before replacing it. She looked hard at the agent standing in front of her. He really didn't look like he was joking. “You want me to...what?”

“Evacuate the medical examiner's offices,” said the agent said again, just as patiently and earnestly as the first time. He smiled down winsomely at her from a point several inches above her head. It was manifestly false; his shoulders were tight and where he’d clasped his hands together, his knuckles were white. He was worried about something- but what it was, she couldn’t imagine. It’s not like the bodies were going to get any deader. She watched him share another quick glance with his partner across the parking lot.

“Yeah, no, I got that part,” she said, crossing her arms. “And I'll even pretend to understand it. It's the part where you need me to sign over the bodies of murder victims to some agency I've never heard of that I'm having trouble with.”

“Oh, you’ve heard of us,” the agent said easily, “but probably by the larger division name.” She looked up sharply at that. Three guesses which large division he was referring to- and the first two don’t count. There weren’t that many large federal agencies that frequently railroaded local investigations with esoteric demands while never answering too many direct questions. It was a very pleasantly phrased threat, and she didn’t like it.

“How about no. I’ll finish my investigation, and then you can take the issue up with the victim’s families.”

“Sam! What the hell is taking so long?” A second agent stalked over from where he’d been speaking to one of the coroner's assistants.

“We’re having a discussion about jurisdiction,” the first agent answered, deceptively mild. His body was still tense. The second agent stomped closer and leaned in. He too loomed over her, but from less vaunted heights. She stared him down anyway. She’d held her ground against bikers in berserker furies. Tall feds were a walk in the park in comparison. The agent blinked. Something else flickered across his face, but it passed too quickly for her to decipher it, and his face returned to its previously pissy look. “Look lady,” he said, impatient again, “We don’t have time for a pissing contest.”

She gave him an ironic look. “What else do you call this? I've been in this business long enough to know dick wagging when I see it. And what I see here? Is a couple of pencil-pushing bureaucrats interfering in my murder investigation.”

“I don't really give a shit what you think,” said the second agent, stepping closer. She glared right up at him and didn't even twitch as he pushed his face up in hers. “People are going to die. Get the building clear now.”

“Or what?”

“Or we'll clear it for you.”

“You need my cooperation on this one, and like hell you're getting it that way. Come back when you've got a court order.”

The man narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to say something cutting, no doubt, when his partner interrupted. “Dean. Let me handle this.”

The agent rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you've got ten minutes and then I'm pulling the fire alarm,” he said, stomping off to mercilessly savage one of her deputies.

The sheriff glanced up at the first man. “He does that and I'll have you both arrested so quick it'll make your heads spin.” The taller man held out his hands in a placating gesture.

“He's just a little tense,” he said, and if she hadn't been pissed before, she is now. “What is this, good cop/bad cop?” she asked incredulously. “Who the hell are you guys?”

The agent gave her a wry smile. “Department of Special Affairs,” he said, as if she hadn't heard him the first time, all of ten minutes ago. She gave a small snort of disgust. “Maybe the better way to put it would have been to ask you who the hell you think you are.”

The agent shrugged, and the false nonchalance of it set even more alarm bells off in her head. “We're just doing our jobs.”

“I'll bet,” she said. “I want to see your badge again.” He reached into his coat pocket and handed it over. She had expected more of a fight, more posturing, but there was none. She flipped it open. It looked legit. It passed the scans. But of course, that was the point, wasn't it? It wasn't that hard to fool the system, not if you knew the wrong people. On the other hand, it was hard not to think that her paranoia was, in this case, just wishful thinking. Department of Special Affairs, huh? Department of Pains in the Ass, more like.

“I want to talk to your supervisor,” she demanded.

“We really need to get that building empty,” the man insisted.

“Yeah? Then go through the right channels,” she said. “This stinks to high heaven.”

The man sighed, but he pulled out a business card. “Here's the direct line for the assistant director,” he said. She narrowed her eyes. “He can explain,” the man added helpfully.

She took it and glanced at the name on the card. Like the badge, it looked real enough. She frowned at it for a second, looked up and frowned at the ridiculously tall agent standing in front of her, then wheeled around and tapped her ear. The newfangled doodad nestled there beeped once and connected her through to the office. She still wasn't sold on it over the good old radios and just plain phones of yesteryear, but it had its benefits. “Sheriff Mills,” said a voice in her ear in lieu of greeting. She grimaced. Larry's not-so-golden voice directly in her ear wasn't one of them.

“Larry,” she said. “I need you to pull something for me- a number for the Department of Special Affairs.” She glanced back at the agent, who watched her with an air of calculated nonchalance. She held up the card the agent had given her as Larry read off the Department's official contact info, then glanced back over at the man. His expression hadn’t changed. Interesting.

“Thanks Larry,” she said, and tapped her ear again. Still eying the agents suspiciously, she connected through to the ‘direct line’.

“Singer,” said a voice far gruffer than Larry's.

“Assistant Director Singer,” she said. It wasn't exactly a question.

“Yeah, that's me. Who's asking?”

“Jody Mills,” she said, “I’ve got a couple of monkey-suited flunkies interfering in not one but three of my department’s murder investigations. They say they’re yours. And I’d like to know what the hell they’re doing here.”

The man actually grumbled in her ear. “Ms Mills-”

“Sheriff.” Her tone was mild but definite.

“Sheriff Mills,” he said, with exaggerated deference, “As much as I'd like to hash this out with you, I'm a busy man and it's low on my list of priorities. We've got jurisdiction. This is a matter of national security. Whatever my agents are working on? Bigger than whatever you're investigating.”

“You're just going to wave around a national security justification and expect me to accept it? I don’t care if you are the DoD, I’m not just going to roll over on this.”

“With all due respect, Sheriff, I don’t need or expect you to do anything except to get the hell out of the way. And if you have a problem with that, you can take it up with the Secretary.”

She fumed. the Secretary and the DoD famously had a low tolerance for non-compliance. Still- some things you just didn’t let stand. She said, “And what am I supposed to tell the victims’ families? Sorry we can’t catch the man who murdered their loved ones, but some damn federal agency really needed the bodies for something mysterious? This isn’t- paperwork. It’s not a pissing contest. It matters.”

Singer said nothing. She’d almost think he’d hung up on her, but she could hear the faint sound of his breath echoing down the line. “Sheriff Mills,” he said at last, but his tone had changed into something far more regretful than she ever expected to hear from some DoD bureaucrat. “The kind of cases the DSA handles- ” He paused again. She noticed too, that when he spoke, he’d lost the polished tones and language of a desk jockey pulling rank. He was done bullshitting her, she thought. Or he was one hell of an actor, but her gut said otherwise. “The details here are so far beyond your clearance level that they haven’t yet invented a word for how classified it is,” he continued at last. “But believe me when I say that my agents will do their damndest to see the closest thing to justice we can done. The killings will stop. But only if you let them do their jobs, Sheriff. That’s all I can offer you. You can tell the victims’ families that no one else will have to suffer what they have. They’ll never get their day in court, but it’ll be over. There’ll be no new bodies after this.”

Sheriff Mills felt her defiance fading. The DoD had a great number of strange little departments - and one big one- doing their best to handle things outside the capabilities of the ordinary authorities...but the memory of Jenny Hallings’ mother weeping in the morgue that morning flickered to life behind her eyes. “That’s it? You think that’ll be enough for them?”

“No,” he said, with the kind of finality borne of personal experience. “But it’ll have to be. Look, after we’re done, I’ll see that the bodies are returned for a decent burial. That’s not SOP, but it’s the best I can offer you. If you cooperate. Do we have your cooperation, Sheriff Mills?” A harder note crept back into his voice, “Or am I going to need to bother the Secretary?”

Jody rubbed a hand over her face. It’d been a long couple of days. She couldn’t remember when she’d last slept. “No,” she said, “I’ll sign the paperwork. But if you screw this up....screw them over....” she let it trail off because she didn’t have any good way to finish it. Any threat she could name would either be laughable or an obvious lie. And Singer had to know it, too, because he didn’t say anything, just patiently waited for her to finish. “Look, I’m not stupid. I know there’s no way for me to fight this and win. But my cooperation? It’s under protest. And if it goes south, I will damn well make sure that everyone knows it, too.”

“Sheriff, I’m not sure who you’re used to dealing with, but trust me, we’re by far capable of covering our own asses here, not that’ll be needed. My boys are good at what they do. It’ll be taken care of. Now just sign the damn bodies over so we can all get on with our lives.”

Jody gritted her teeth and glanced back at the two agents. One of them caught her eye, smiled, and gave her a little wave. “Fine,” she ground out. “You’ll have the documentation shortly.”

“Fantastic,” he drawled, his voice dry as any desert. “The Department appreciates your cooperation.” There was a click. She tapped the ear piece once, but it did her no good. He’d hung up on her. Goddamn feds, she thought, then fought to quash the urge to call him back just to return the favor. She whistled for her deputy instead, and when he came over, she told him to initiate the level one evacuation procedures for the building. “Precautionary evacuation?” he asked, “What’s the precaution?”

“I don’t know, Barrera. Some Fringe thing.” She rolled her eyes. “Just get it done.”

“Sure thing,” the deputy said, “Not many people here right now, and most of them are out here gawking at us. Let’s say 5 minutes and we’ll be good to go. For whatever it is.”

She nodded at him. “Great,” she said, and stomped over towards the second agent and held out her hand. He looked at her quizzically for a second, then blinked as enlightenment dawned. He handed over the tablet. She authorized the transfer and held the tablet out to him.

“Thank you,” he said. He didn’t sound particularly gracious. She bit off her first response, which was not especially professional. He reached for the tablet, but she held on for a moment, staring long and hard into his green eyes before letting go. “Agent, you came into my town and stuck your noses into my investigation, not the other way around. And then you rammed your security clearances down my throat and expected me to thank you kindly for it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Let me make this clear: I don’t owe you any favors. And if you or your partner take so much as one step out of line while you’re here? I’ll throw your asses in jail without so much as a second thought about it, and damn the Secretary and national security and whatever other bullshit Walter Bishop and Fringe Division might throw my way. Is that clear?”

She’d expected a scowl from the man, but instead what she got was...puzzled.

“Fringe Division,” he said. “What do they have to do with anything?”

She stared at him. Off near the building entrance, the agent’s partner called to him. “Quit flirting and let’s go.”

They both ignored him, though the agent twitched a little. “You’re not with the DoD?” she asked. She felt like she’d just walked unknowingly into some farce, like any minute some idiot with a camera would jump out and yell, Live From New York, and the skit would be over. “But your director-” And then she stopped. Damn the man. He hadn’t actually said anything about the DoD or Fringe Division. He just hadn’t corrected her. And the first agent, the one loitering so impatiently by the entrance had done his best to suggest...but never state. She’d have someone’s head for this, and she suspected it was hers. She just assumed; she hadn’t checked.

The agent’s face cleared. “Oh. Right. Look, don’t worry about it. Everything is under control. The deaths will stop. You’ve got my word.”

She grabbed him before he could sprint off. “Who the hell are you people?”

“Sam didn’t tell you?” the agent asked, shaking her off. “We’re an under-department associated with the Bureau of Land Management.” In the background, Jody could hear her deputy calling in to confirm the completion of the evacuation. She ignored it and kept her eyes on the man in front of her. If she could have cracked open his skull and taken a look inside, she would have.

“You’re from the Department of the goddamn Interior? What the hell is going on here?” the sheriff sputtered, not sure if she was more angry or confused. But the agent was already headed for the door. She chased after him, catching up only as he and his partner stepped through. She grabbed the door and held it open. “I’m coming with you.”

“The hell you are,” the agent- Dean- said. “This is DSA business now, Sheriff.”

“And that was gonna fly when I thought you were with the DoD. What the hell are you guys going to do, round up some wild burros? Tell me my murderer has been running illegal mining operations on Federal land?”

“What we’re gonna do is none of your damn business, Sheriff,” Dean said, moving to pull the door out of her hands. She resisted. “Like hell.” His face went hard for a second, and then he visibly relented. She was saved from a game of tug-of-war over the door when the agent suddenly let go of it. She just managed not to stumble back as the door swung open. “Alright, fine,” he said, “But stay out of the way.” He stalked down the hallway after his partner. Dumbfounded, she stared the two agents as they rapidly receded down the corridor, but after a moment her brain caught back up and she hurried after them in an attempt to catch up.

The hallways of the ME were brightly lit in comparison to the twilight dusk outside; too bright, truthfully, with the perfectly white corridors, overkill air conditioning, and the stale anti-septic tinged air. She rubbed at the sudden goosebumps on her arm and rounded the corner, just in time to see Sam, the tall agent who’d fed her the Fringe line, go flying out of the examination room and land hard against the corridor wall. A sawed-off shotgun clattered on the floor next to him. Her brain stuttered at the sight, temporarily fixating on the smaller mystery of where the hell he’d been hiding it rather than the larger one of what the hell was going on.

She got an answer to the second one at least when something charged out the door after him. It was Jenny Hallings...or it had been, at any rate. No living person could be so enthusiastically mobile with that many holes in them. The agent on the floor groaned, but didn’t move. The sheriff’s hand dropped immediately to her weapon. She pulled it without question and fired five shots directly into Jenny’s chest. She might as well have spit on her, for all the good it did. Jenny didn't fall, she didn't scream, she didn't do anything so natural. Jenny scrambled towards her with an intensity Jody knew boded no good. She fired again, futile or not. There was no way in hell she was turning her back on the thing Jenny Hallings had become. Jenny ignored the bullets punching their way through her chest, and reached an arm out for Jody.

And then the other agent- Dean- tackled Jenny from behind, driving her down onto her knees. He pulled a knife. Jenny started laughing. It was singularly the most horrible sound Jody had ever heard, a brittle, ancient, wheezy cackle. Her face remained perfectly blank, but a blood bubble burst from her torn lips and dribbled down her chin. She twisted sharply, plucked Dean away from her back and threw him hard back into the examination room. Jody her a clang from where he must have hit one of the tables and in the interminable seconds before Jenny turned that sightless gaze back upon her, Jody cursed her own damn stubbornness for getting herself involved with this shit. And then she dove for the shotgun on the floor. Whatever the hell Jenny was, the sheriff doubted she’d take well to a bunch of buckshot at close range. Jody fired, straight into the chest. It should have vaporized her. Jenny stumbled, but didn’t stop. Jody stood, racked the shotgun and fired again. Jenny stumbled again, and this time, when she fell to her knees, Dean rose up behind her like the personification of vengeance and hacked off her head with the saw.

The head rolled to a stop at Jody’s feet. The sheriff looked at Dean, then down at his still-dazed partner. She reached down to the man, gave him her hand, and attempted to haul him to his feet. It worked as well as expected, but it did get him standing.

“Goddamn necros,” Dean said, by way of explanation. His suit was covered in blood.

“So,” she said. They both looked at her with gazes that wavered between resignation and trepidation. “How the hell are you guys part of the Department of the Interior?”

At that, they both relaxed and cracked identical smiles. She’d passed some test. But it was Sam who spoke, still gingerly nursing his head. “It’s the department of everything else.”

Jody considered this. “You know, never mind, I don't really want to know. So now what?”

“Now we-” said Dean, stressing the we in a way that made it clear that it did not include jurisdiction-ignoring sheriffs- “Will track down the necromancer who got the brilliant idea to create his own zombie army out of dead girls and nail him to the wall.”

“Not literally,” his partner added when he saw her face.

"I'm thinking literally," Dean protested. “But it doesn’t matter. Thanks for the hand, sheriff. We’ll be in touch.” And with that brush-off, he headed for the hallway. His partner followed. Goddamn them, she thought. Killing zombies should count as a bonding moment, shouldn't it? Damn it. But at the moment, only the frustration and anger were holding back the minor-freak she damn well deserved. If she'd wanted to deal with this shit, she would have signed up as a Fringe agent last time the recruiters came calling.

She jogged after them, grabbing Dean by the arm before they could get very far. “Wait- just wait. What about the bodies?”

Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked at Dean, then back at Jody. “Oh,” said Sam. “We’re done. They’re all yours.” He pulled a tablet from his jacket and tapped in something. It pinged. She had the sinking sensation she knew exactly what it meant.

Before she could complain, he’d also headed for the door.

A second later, her own tablet pinged. She pulled it out with nerveless fingers and looked at it. He’d transferred custody of the bodies back to her department. Except it was all marked classified and the bodies in question were in pieces on the floor.

Still standing in the bloody corridor, she tapped her ear piece. It buzzed in her ear for a second and then-

“Singer.”

“You’re a real bastard, Singer,” she said. “But thank you.” She hung up before he could say anything. She trailed out of the building and grabbed her deputy. “Cancel the evacuation,” she said, then added, “And round up the medical examiner. He’s got a long night ahead of him. And get me everything you can find on the Department of Special Affairs.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff Mills. But what about you?”

The sheriff looked out over the parking lot, at the people still milling there, and then grinned. She pulled out the card the agent had given her, and twirled it in her fingers. She'd always wanted to take a trip to D.C. “I'm going to raise some hell.”

The End (?)

**Author's Note:**

> Random other notes: The Department of the Interior really is called the Department of Everything Else. Typically, "interior" usually implies something along the Department of Homeland Security, but as far as the US is concerned, it's the government version of that drawer you shove all the random stuff you don't have a good place to put. They manage the national park service, fish and wildlife, water resource management (this is a big one out west), "Ocean Energy Management, Regulation and Enforcement" (which just goes to show that SHIELD is not really that awkward of an acronym), mining, the Bureau of Land Management, which manages federal land (and out here in Nevada, does round-ups and cullings of wild horses, when the herds get too big). They're also in charge of the department that gets other federal agencies to talk to each other. And the Bureau of Indian Affairs. And they manage US territories, like all those little islands in the Pacific that are the only remnants of the US's relatively short-lived imperial ambitions at the turn of the century.
> 
> It's really a hodgepodge, which is why I chose it for the Winchester's little department. That, and it amused me, as people usually expect legit Winchesters to be working for the FBI, Homeland Security, or, in a Fringe universe, for Fringe Division. But the DOI tended to be an even better fit than I first expected- it's well known for being a little anything-goes, with employees and departments getting up to all sort of shenannigans and not being investigated or questioned for them. And that seemed to me the kind of department hunters could get behind.


End file.
